January Sucks

Just then I heard a gate swing open a few doors down, followed by the sound of a garbage can rolling across a driveway. I had forgotten that tomorrow was trash day and a neighbor a few houses down was belatedly putting his cans out. This, of course, triggered a cacophony of dogs barking around the neighborhood which, coupled with my already precarious situation, made me feel even more vulnerable. I bid a hasty retreat back down the steps, across the lawn, and was soon heading down the sidewalk to my car.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Was all that managed to fit in my brain. What the hell was going on? I was comforted that I would have all this recorded, but I would have to wait until the next day to download and review the files. Diane had been prophetic and my transaction with Ron Jackson was looking better and better all the time.

Sleep did not come easily that night. Try as I might, I could not get the recorded conversations between Linda and the Asshole out of my mind. And inserted in between were even more confusing thoughts about Ellen and whatever it was that was hidden in the back of her mind.

Thursday morning I woke up early and, as usual, listened to "Coffee in the Morning" while I was getting dressed. It seems that our local football team was doing some damage control and a couple of reporters on the newspaper's sports beat were on air with Dan talking about rumors of a possible post-season trade that involved LaValliere. The first thought that passed through my mind was that it sounded like the team was trying to sweep some unwanted dirt under the rug. The second thought was to wonder what Linda would think about this development, especially given what I had seen at the house the night before.

I called my office and let the receptionist know that I had a legal matter to attend to and asked her to let Paul, my boss, know that I would be late. He had already given me the "okay" to handle these things on my own, but I decided that I owed him as much notice as I could provide. I then called Diane Hoffman's office to confirm my appointment for 10:00 and asked her secretary to let her know that I would be bringing the financial disclosure information that she had requested. Linda usually left for work a little before 8:00 so that would give me about 2 hours to get into the house, download the recordings from the surveillance devices, grab the rest of the documents that Diane needed, and still make it to my appointment on time.

As a precaution, I decided to text Linda before I left for the house, just to confirm that she had already left.

"Good Morning, Linda." My text read. "I hope you slept well last night. I missed seeing you and the kids and I was hoping that we could all have dinner together tomorrow night." I didn't add my usual "I love yous" or heart-shaped emojis, which I was sure she would notice. The response I got was less than warm.

"What's the matter? Don't you have any more excrement to sling on the radio this morning?" Except that she didn't actually use the word "excrement."

"Nope." I replied. "You can tell the Asshole he's safe today." Okay, that was childish, but I wanted to respond in kind. And then I waited. And waited... And then, realizing that she was not going to reply to my text anytime soon, I put my phone in my pocket and headed for the house.

Pulling into my garage this early in the morning was a new experience for me. I confirmed that Linda's car was gone -- and that no unknown cars were in my space. I parked the car, closed the garage door, grabbed the backpack containing my laptop, and headed inside and into the kitchen. Things looked the same as they had when I was there only 36 hours before. Neat and tidy, with only the morning's breakfast dishes in the sink. I set up my laptop and began downloading the files that contained today's treasure-trove of new information. I then headed into the den and pulled the latest financial records from the locked file cabinet behind the desk. Once I had everything I wanted, I decided to head upstairs and look around.

I first stopped in Tommy's bedroom. He had more toys than any kid I have ever heard of, and they were distributed about 50%/50% between the floor and his toy shelves. I sat on the bed and picked up his pillow, taking a deep breath to see if I could still smell him on it. I detected the faint hint of his favorite shampoo but that was about it, but even that brought a smile to my face.

I next went into Emma's inner sanctum. Unlike Tommy's room, Emma's was pristine; neat in every way. I pulled out her desk chair and sat down looking first at the computer she used to do her homework and then around at the objects sitting on each shelf. Most were predictable trinkets, but when I looked at the lower right shelf, I saw a picture that hadn't been there just a few days before. It was a picture of the two of us at her school's Halloween Party last year. The picture frame was a rather gaudy, but still somewhat appropriate, red heart. In an instant I was in tears. I couldn't help myself. Except for the occasional business trips and a couple of longer romantic overnights with Linda, I had not been away from my kids for two days in a row since they were born. I dabbed my eyes and surveyed the room. Then noticing nothing new, I headed down the hall to the Master Bedroom.

The bedroom initially appeared unchanged, something I fully expected. But when I went into the bathroom, I was surprised to see that my personal items had been removed from the countertop, bagged, and placed in a lower drawer. In their place, Linda had added a selection of her own trinkets and more of her cosmetics. I wasn't sure what that meant, if anything, but it certainly didn't appear that she was awaiting my return with anticipation. A glance in the closet revealed the same thing. My suits, shirts, and daily wear clothes had been pushed to the far back of the closet and were replaced by some new outfits of Linda's that I didn't recognize. Once again, I strained to think of what this might mean.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, the files had all been downloaded so I disconnected from the Wi-Fi, turned off the laptop, and stowed it along with the financial files that I had collected into the backpack and headed to my car.

It took only a few minutes with Diane to see that she had everything well in hand. She handed me a sheet of paper containing a list of Psychologists and Marriage and Family Counselors that were approved by the court to handle court-ordered counseling. She suggested that I look it over and pick out my top 3, since courts routinely ordered counseling whenever a divorcing couple has minor children, especially young ones like ours.

I took the pages and headed back to the office. Just minutes after I got back to work, the receptionist buzzed and told me that there was a DeeDee on hold for me. I couldn't recall a client or work associate named "DeeDee" but, just in case it was a potential client, I decided to take the call anyway.

As soon as I said "Hello," an unusually cheery voice blasted through the phone.

"Hi Jim!!" The voice said. I recognized it immediately. It belonged to "my friend" Dee. Before she could get out another word, I slammed the phone down in its cradle. She was the last person I wanted to talk to -- now or ever!

Dave called me a few minutes later to chew me out and tell me she was trying to be my friend.

"She's the woman who helped my wife cheat on me. She's no friend of mine."

"Jim, she's your friend and Linda's. She wants what we all want: you back to your old self, and you and Linda together."

"You can come back and tell me that after your wives have cheated on you."

"Is that what it will take? Really? Then call Dee and set up a time. Do it, Jim! Do her first, because she helped Linda the most, then do the others. We'd all prefer that to your breaking up with Linda."

"That's easy to say now, Dave. Since you know it isn't going to happen. But, since we're being so open and sharing, there's something I need to share with you. Friday night, after Linda left the club with the Asshole, Dee told me something that shocked me. She said that if he had picked her instead of Linda, she would have gone with him -- and ended up doing the same thing to you that Linda did to me. I don't know if that puts your marriage in a different light, but I know that I would certainly keep both my eyes open, if I were you."

Dave stammered just a bit. He may not have liked it, but it looked like he believed me. Nevertheless, he pressed on.

"Jim, don't you see? You and Linda are the best of us. You're the ones we rely on, the ones we look up to. Why do you think you're always the designated driver: just because you can't hold your liquor? No, because we know you always think ahead and you'll do the right thing. Hell, when LaValliere was coming to our table, Linda was the only woman who didn't check him out, remember? If you two can't make it, what chance do the rest of us have?"

"Dave, I've got to tell you that, given what's going on, if Linda and I are the best of you, then there's probably little hope for your marriage."

We exchanged a few more platitudes and said our goodbyes. It appeared that neither of us had changed the other's opinion, which was okay with me. He needed to live his life just like I needed to live mine. His better for Dee being in it, mine for her being out.

As soon as I dropped Dave's call, I closed my office door and began going through the video files that were taken in my home the night before. With only a brief interruption to respond to a text from Ellen, confirming our lunch appointment at 12:30, I located and started reviewing the videos.

The scene that appeared on my computer screen was unremarkable until Linda put the kids down to bed and went into the master bedroom. She then showered and spent the next hour getting made up as if she were going on a date. Not a good sign, I thought.

A few minutes before 10:00 Linda was finished with her makeup, pulled on a pair of her tightest jeans, put on a very sexy blouse and her favorite CFM heels, and headed downstairs. A few minutes later the house phone rang and, when Linda answered, the male voice simply said, "I'm 5 out" and hung up.

Linda then walked through the kitchen and into the garage, I assume to raise the garage door. After 5 or 6 minutes she came back into the kitchen, this time pulling the Asshole by the hand. It was clear that they had previously discussed how they would handle getting him into the house and hide his car from our neighbors' curious eyes. It also did not go unnoticed that she had directed him to park in my parking spot; kind of a fitting metaphor, I thought.

They paused for a moment in the kitchen while she poured herself and LaValliere each a glass of wine. As they left the kitchen, I dropped the video file I had been watching and opened the video file from the camera in the living room. I watched as they entered the room and I was pleased that, at least, they weren't kissing. I was also happy that Linda planted herself in the middle of the loveseat, which denied the Asshole the opportunity to sit beside her. Instead, he had taken my usual chair which was directly across from her and near the front door.

At the beginning, the conversation was light, both exchanging compliments on the other's appearance and expressing how much they had missed each other. They were speaking softly, obviously in an attempt not to wake the children that were sleeping just down the hall, which made it difficult for me to hear parts of their conversation.

After a few minutes, however, LaValliere took the discussion in a sharply different direction.

"I can't believe your husband, Linda. The asshole is really trying to hurt me. Besides talking to the paper, he's been on the radio twice talking shit about me and trying to make me look bad. When my agent and a rep for the team tried to go on the air to fix things, he even sandbagged them!"

"How could Jim even do that, Marc? He's just a sales manager. He doesn't know anyone important. I don't think he's even met the president of his own company. How could he get himself so much publicity?"

Now it was time for LaValliere to play the victim.

"Linda, it's not about him. It's about me. Everyone thinks that because you're a celebrity everyone loves you. But there are a lot of jealous people out there who are just waiting to take you down. All they need is a moron like your husband to give them something to use, and they'll be all over me in no time."

"But what about all of your friends; the businessmen and politicians and charities that you do all that work for. Don't they stick up for you?" she asked.

"Yeah, sometimes they'll put in a good word here or there. Most of the time, they're just looking out for themselves, so they'll wait to see which direction the public leans before they do anything. But this bullshit needs to stop, Linda. I got a call from my agent this afternoon and he said that, not only did he get called into a meeting with the team's head office to talk about my new contract, three companies I have endorsement deals with called my P.R. guys and they had to talk them out of cancelling. Hell, I make more money from those deals than I do from my salary!"

Linda seemed in disbelief. "How can they do that, Marc?"

"All the deals have "morality clauses" which allow them to cancel my contract if they think I did something that makes them look bad. All endorsements have them and the usually don't amount to much. My agent says that we're safe for the time being, but I've got to keep my nose clean and get your idiot husband to shut up."

Before he even finished the sentence, LaValliere's head turned sharply toward the window as if he heard something outside. It wasn't clear what he was listening to, perhaps it was the dogs barking or even me on the porch, but he quietly rose out of his chair and moved around the room to get a better look out the window. He looked back and forth several times but apparently nothing caught his eye. Linda rose to ask if he wanted another drink and, when he said 'yes', she went back into the kitchen to get it. But instead of returning to the chair, he sat down on the couch, strategically to the right of center leaving little room for my wife when she returned.

Minutes later, I watched as Linda entered the room, looked where the Asshole was sitting, then at her place on the loveseat, then back again to LaValliere, handed him his drink, and then sat down on the couch a modest distance away.

Just then I was startled by the sound of banging on my office door. Gathering my wits, I yelled out, "Come in!" The door swung open and Karen burst into my office waving some paper announcing that we had a problem with a large client our team was onboarding. She turned around and headed toward a worktable placed at the center of our cubicles that had been nicknamed "The Pigpen."

All thoughts of the video dissipated as we worked through the problem and, finally just before 12:00, we had made enough progress that I felt I could leave my team to resolve the remaining issues themselves after lunch. Remembering that I was meeting Ellen, I headed back to my office to grab my coat and keys.

As I was passing by the Pigpen heading out the door, Karen rushed up and, with a concerned look on her face, said, "I'm sorry for busting in like that, Boss. You looked kind of strange. Is everything okay?"

"Sure, Karen. You just surprised me. Plus, I've got a lunch appointment in 20 minutes and the place is 20 minutes away. I'll probably be a little late getting back but I'll check in with you when I do." And with that I was gone.

While still definitely "upscale," the Madison traded in its formal dinner ambiance for more of a "business lunch" feel to accommodate the lunch crowd. It was an impressive and affluent crowd that looked my way as I rushed past the hostess's station and into the dining room, not noticing a blond woman and her party seated in a booth near the door. I slowed down to a more relaxed stroll as I walked between tables, my head swinging from side to side as I looked for Ellen's familiar face.

And then I saw her.

I had been thinking about her off and on since we parted the night before and I remembered her being beautiful, but the woman sitting alone at a secluded table near the back of the room was absolutely gorgeous. Striking enough to make me immediately question why she was waiting for me. But as I drew closer, I saw her look up and then watched as a smile burst across her face, causing me to do the same. Ellen started to stand but I placed my hand gently on her shoulder and whispered, "No, please," then I bent and kissed her gently on the cheek.

It was as if the hours since we last saw each other melted away and we were instantly back where we were when we ended the night before. But this time any reservation in Ellen seemed to have been replaced by a look that was more genuinely happy.

When the waiter arrived to take our drink orders, we both selected the first thing that popped out on the menu, as if not wanting to waste a moment of our time together. Once the waiter left, we picked up exactly where we had left off the night before, but this time I was careful to make sure that my beautiful companion was the focus of our conversation.

Ellen talked about her childhood growing up in an immigrant section of Baltimore, her father's parents were Greek and Italian while her mother was the daughter of a Romani immigrant, which all combined to give her an exotic Mediterranean appearance. The Romani, better known as "gypsies," were targets of intense discrimination in Europe and were among the first that the Nazis sent to the death camps. And even after they immigrated to the United States, they were scorned, even by other immigrant communities.

Ellen told of her parents' Romeo and Juliet story, falling in love, getting pregnant, and then marrying too young and, for her dad, to someone from a mistrusted ethnicity. She told about them running off to Pennsylvania to start a new life, her father working two jobs to support his young family while going to college, and her mother taking in laundry so that she could stay home and raise her beautiful baby, Ellen.

And then her eyes became misty as she told about her father's accident, exhausted from a full day of work and school, falling asleep while driving home from a late night of studying in the university's library. She spoke of the rejection by her father's family, her mother's deep despair, and the marriage of convenience to an older neighbor. Ellen lowered her eyes as she told of the sexual abuse this beautiful child endured, of her mother ignoring the signs while clinging to hold onto her tenuous life, and finally of that young girl confronting her step-father in public when his drunken affection was displayed, of the subsequent argument, and finally of the dissolution of her mother's marriage.

By then Ellen had started elementary school which allowed her mother to work outside their little apartment. Doing laundry in the morning and cooking for a nursing home in the afternoon and evenings, Ellen's mom struggled to provide for her daughter all through high school. Her stepfather's abuse having burned into her feminine psyche, Ellen downplayed her appearance, especially around boys. Her beauty and athleticism helped her make the cheerleading squad and her kind soul made her popular with classmates. But Ellen was always sensitive about her humble upbringing, enough that she never let any of her friends see where she lived.

Except one.

While Ellen occasionally dated during her last years in high school, she rarely saw any young man more than once. That is, until she met Brett. She knew of Brett, of course, he was the school basketball team's star shooting forward. With movie star good looks and standing 6'3", Brett made the All-State team his Junior year and First Team All-State their Senior year. And he was smart -- whip-smart -- and earned a scholarship as a National Honor Society finalist his senior year.